


Dosage

by Crescent_Moon_Demon



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bribery, Drug Abuse, Drugstore setting, Dubious Consent, Forced Consent, Love/Hate, M/M, Non-war setting, Powerplay, alternative universe, goading, malpractice, mutual playing field, otherwise both our afts, trickery, two bastards perfect for each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Moon_Demon/pseuds/Crescent_Moon_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many nuisances to working a deadend job at a local pharmacy. The frequent junkie that comes in tops all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**C.M.D: It's been a while since I've uploaded last (feels like months honestly) but I'm not getting any less busier. So, I'm super glad that I have at least gotten a few chapters done this month for your reading pleasure. In addition, please enjoy this new fic! It's gonna be a few chapters, not many, and will explore a variation of dubious consent/powerplay relationships and it'll be the first _real_  story I've done of Tarn/Pharma slash so I'm super stoked! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did~**

The doorbell gave its mechanical jingle as another customer entered the store, bringing with them the noise of construction outside and a waft of salty atmosphere.

Pharma ignored it, as he did most things, continuing his lazy sorting of customer prescriptions. He had an order to fill -not a very large one mind you- but he liked one hundred and ten percent perfection for every task he completed. Plus focusing on the mashing, counting and assembly of his large collection of drugs kept the dullness at bay.

...Mostly.

There was rustling over in the junk food section of the shop, meaning that the customer was still browsing. Or attempting to steal a handful of half-processed scrap. Glancing upwards over the pharmacy counter, Pharma scowled, recognizing the mech now picking up a jumbo bag of rust sticks.

"Great. Can't I have one orn without that junkie bothering me...," the Autobot mumbled to himself, finishing up another order. He kept all other comments to himself as the Decepticon came lumbering over to the pharmacy counter, carrying his regular dose of junk food and several bottles of cough syrup and sleep aid.

"Ah, my dear Pharma the Pharmacist," the mech greeted, red optics glinting cheekily from the gaps in his mask. "How are you faring this orn?"

"You can check out at the front," Pharma replied snidely, pulling out the next order.

"Oh but I wish to talk with you." The Decepticon leaned on the counter, almost over the side, the hint of amusement in his tone. The white mech lifted an optic ridge at the statement, but still did not reply. A klik passed between them before the other cleared his vocalizer again. "I believe I am coming down with something, my dear pharmacist. Would you mind suggesting something to help?"

_'You're coming down with a severe case of being a pain in my aft,'_  the Autobot thought nastily. He kept processing another client's prescription.

Of course, the stranger did not budge. "Well, if you don't know..."

Pharma's wing twitched at the blatant insult, stapling the client's carry-out bag close. "What sort of 'symptoms' do you have?," he demanded impatiently.

"Dizziness, lack of focus, insomnia, aches and chills, fever...," the Decepticon started listing off.

"Anything else?," Pharma asked rudely.

"No," the stranger rumbled. "Name's Tarn, by the way. I'm sure you'll need that for your databanks. Is my comm number required as well?"

"No," the white mech replied quickly. _'As if I really needed your name, let alone your slagging number. With the way you throw back off-the-shelf drugs, I'm surprised you haven't yet croaked. But if you want to keep pestering me, let's give you something a little more... stronger?'_  The moment the idea came to Pharma, he smirked, pleased with his ingenuity.

Perhaps a good cocktail blend of various narcotics would finally teach the Decepticon to stop coming into his pharmacy to get a fix. If it killed him in the process, well, all the better! Scoping the shelves in front of him quickly, Pharma grabbed several bottles; cracking them open, pouring a varied amount into his nearby mortar and crushing them down into an unidentifiable powder. With all the proficiency of the skilled, the Autobot took the powder, poured them into a series of large pill casings, before putting them in a unmarked bottle and directly into a paper bag.

"You will need to take four every couple hours or so," he lied, stapling the bag shut and slapping a directional intake sticker on the front. "That should be enough to handle symptoms you have contracted thus far and ward off any further ones."

Tarn looked surprised for a moment, but he quickly subdued any such expression as Pharma walked down to the counter. The pharmacist was all smiles and politeness as he rung in the rest of the Decepticon's purchase. "Have a good day, sir," he said sultrily, handing the other mech his bagged goods.

Pharma could almost hear the disgusting rev the other's systems gave. "I look forward to seeing you again soon, Pharma," Tarn replied, taking his things (clumsily, Pharma would add. Enough so the creep could brush the back of the Autobot's servo) and finally leaving the store. As soon as he had seen the Decepticon's backstruts round the corner from out the window, the white mech sneered.

"Choke and die, junkie," he quietly whispered to no one, before turning around to return to his work.

**xxXxXxx**

The end of the orn drew to a close soon enough and with a cheery air, Pharma finished up the last of his orders, put aside tomorrow's deliveries and shut down the computers before leaving the store. He walked right past the manager, who raised a servo to say something, yet couldn't find the words in time. Still strutting, the Autobot headed straight out into the last rays of the setting sun, eager for a hot oil bath and his favourite medical horror novel.

"Mmm," he hummed pleasantly, "I can't wait to get home."

"I'm afraid that is going to have to wait, my dear pharmacist," a vocalizer growled out lowly, a shadow looming from behind Pharma. His wings shook in terror at the familiar tone right before something grabbed him; covering his optics and mouth as he was dragged away.

He kicked and squirmed as best as he could, but there was no getting out of his assailant's strong grasp, and a few kliks later, Pharma got his release- right after he had been thrown forward. "O-owch!" Slamming into a brick wall, the Autobot tripped back onto his aft, hissing at the skinned plating of his cheekplate and palms. "Y-you fra-"

"Now, now," his attacker cut in quickly, his tone somewhere between amused and vicious, "You're the one not playing fair, Pharma."

Pharma froze, staring up at Tarn, his apparent kidnapper, feeling suddenly very small and very uncomfortable being at the other mech's knees. "...you...," he slowly muttered, getting to his pedes ever so carefully.

The Decepticon seemed to smile beneath his mask; leaning forward, he grabbed Pharma again, one large servo covering the white mech's mouth, making it impossible for him to scream out. "No, you, my lil' mad doctor. You thought to play a nasty game, give me some bad 'medicine'," Tarn spoke casually, tightening his grip. "I think you intended to do me in. I'm not really sure why though- I did enjoy visiting you. You're a pretty thing; certainly not the type who should be working in a pathetic lil' pharmacy... but I suppose you didn't like me, hmm? Allow me to fathom a guess: I'm a Decepticon and you're an Autobot."

Pharma struggled to pull free, shaking and clawing, the piping in his jaw beginning to ache with the other's crushing grip. To no avail though- he was trapped.

Tarn hummed at the Autobot's attempts, almost laughing. With his other servo, he cupped the pharmacist's codpiece, pressing the smaller 'bot into the alley wall. "See, your lil' science experiment didn't have the effects you wanted, I'm sure," the Decepticon husked, optics flaring for a moment, "But I assure you, they had an effect. One I've had to endure quite unfairly for the last few cycles- and now you get to help relieve me of it."

That made Pharma freeze altogether once more. Spark pulse picking up, he tugged and tore harder, desperate to get away; thighs rubbing against one another in a weak endeavor to drive that servo out from his more intimate areas. He was lucky in that regard... until Tarn reached for his own codpiece, flicking the metal back harshly, his reverberating spike shooting from its housing like laser fire; fully erect, siding flashing quickly and slick with a copious amount of fluids.

"Looks like you made yourself a lovely lil' aphrodisiac concoction," the Decepticon husked, leaning in close. "Congrats, my dear pharmacist."

In that moment, the Autobot could finally hear the huffing of the other mech's systems as they struggled to cycle out the chemically-induced heat, while at the same time trying to mask both the sound and odour beginning to rise. Glancing into the purple mech's optics, Pharma shook, his fingers gouging into plating as he saw a sea of red-tainted hunger, anger, amusement and lust in that merciless gaze.

"Now," Tarn purred viciously, grasping between Pharma's legs again, "About that 'help'..."

Optics narrowing, the white mech bucked wildly, one knee shooting upwards sharply. The Decepticon saw it coming though, for he lashed out with his other servo to block the attack on his spike, freeing Pharma's mouth. "You're fragged in the helm if you think I'll let you in my valve!," he snapped, hitting Tarn across the helm.

"Why you little..." The larger mech took a step back before slamming the Autobot hard against the wall again; pressed close, thigh to thigh, to prevent any more kicks for his equipment. "What makes you think you have a choice, my dear pharmacist?," he asked, optics burning brightly as they stared down upon the wriggling 'bot.

"I-i'll report you!," Pharma hissed, trying to push the Decepticon away. Being this close to that fragger, especially with that heated spike laying against his stomach plating, made the white mech want to purge in disgust. "You rape me and I'll have the Enforcers on your aft so fast, you'll-"

Tarn's laugh swallowed up the rest of what he was going to say. "You? Report me?," he chuckled cruelly still, "Oh, Pharma, we both know you won't do that. Your pride won't let you admit to everyone that you were taken advantage of by a 'filthy Decepticon'."

Blue optics narrowed into deadly slits, mouth contorted in a snarl. "My pride wouldn't allow a fragger like you to have the pleasure of being a secret! The fake sympathies would be mere annoyances compared to the joy I would feel seeing you behind an electric grid!"

Purple mask canted to the side a fraction as the Decepticon continued to stare down on his prey. "...And what about your reputation? Your job at the Pharmacy here, hm?" Not questions of actual interest, but testing the waters. For what purpose?

Pharma squirmed again, pressing back against the wall in a desperate attempt to create enough space between him and the idiot, with the hopes of kicking the mech back. Alas, no such luck; Tarn even made a point of moving in closer. "Everyone shall be on my side," the pharmacist spat, olfactory sensor wrinkled in disgust. "I shall be a victim, but a brave one, and I will be praised for my heroics in putting a foul, ignorant, sick, raping freak of a Decepticon into the Stockades and off of the streets! What point are you trying to prove, hm?! You still won't get this chance!"

Tarn said nothing, grabbing the smaller mech's face and yanking him away from the wall. Pharma kicked and swung wildly, but, again, he was merely thrown face forward to the wall -this time, the other 'bot slammed into him from behind, before he had a chance to fall down or recover.

"G-get-"

"Stop wasting your breath," the Decepticon cut in, servos squeezing dents into the Autobot's hips. "If anyone was going to help you, they would have by now. As for your reasons... they're weak. You know that, I know it, and as amusing as I thought your responses were going to be, I am sadly disappointed. You have no imagination, Pharma."

Wings were trembling in terror again; fuel tanks roiling and angry, panicked tears were coming to his optics. "Wa-wait-! What are you-?!" Pharma twisted and tried to get free, even as his arms were yanked over his helm, another set of fingers gripping tight around his codpiece.

"Don't worry, my dear pharmacist," Tarn purred, vocalizer dripping with lust and frame emitting steam through the seams, "It'll be over quickly."

"W-wait, I-i... I have a proposition!"

All motion stopped behind at Pharma's cry; metal creaking as Tarn shifted, his other servo bracing the wall casually, but his spike remaining pressed against a shivering thigh in reminder. "Oh?," was all that he said, intakes brushing alongside the Autobot's audio hotly.

Pharma flinched, making another face in disgust. His processor worked fast, realizing that he'd failed in convincing the larger mech in his seriousness to report him, and that Tarn was still adamant about getting under and in his plating. He couldn't -wouldn't!- stand for some filthy, brainless, sub-level trash heap Decepticon take pleasure from his valve or any other intimate part of him. But how to dissuade him from ripping his codpiece free and simply taking it anyway?

"I'm waiting," the smooth vocalizer spoke up from behind, short and cruel and quickly losing patience. "If you have no pleas to make, Pharma, then you don't-"

"N-not my valve!," the pharmacist hurried to say. He felt, rather than heard, his companion cant his helm once more.

"Your mouth then? Well, that would be-"

"No, not my mouth, you ingrate!," Pharma snapped, cutting off Tarn again. He heard the other's engine turn over angrily, the servo around his wrists tightening in a crushing grip. "O-ow! Ow, s-stoppit!"

"You make me stop, a third time, might I add, to try and bargain with me," the Decepticon calmly said, "And instead, you've taken away two of my top choices: your valve and your mouth. So, what am I to use, dear Pharma? Your servos?"

"L-like the Pit I would jack you off with my se-"

"See?" Tarn sighed, having just shoved Pharma's face into the wall. He ignored the little grunt that followed. "So much hostility. Honestly, you need to learn the meaning of bargaining, my dear pharmacist, but today's not that day. Now, we were-"

"D-don't even think about it!," Pharma screeched, twisting viciously as fingers once more closed around his codpiece. "I-in five kliks, the Enforcers will be here and you will be carted off to the Stockades!"

The Autobot grunted as he was suddenly spun around, red optics burning into his own.

"You're lying," Tarn hissed.

Pharma sneered, trying to twist his wrists free from the still crushing grip they were entrapped in. "You think I don't have a silent emergency line, just in case of situations like this? You're not the first dumbaft Decepticon to think you can get the better of me and I doubt you'll be the last," he replied. "If I were you, I'd be running now."

Wincing as his wrists were crushed further, the white mech turned his helm to the side as Tarn leaned in, mask almost touching his cheekplate. "And what if I decided to rip back your codpiece anyway? I can still finish and you would be left with such a gorgeous sight for the Enforcers to see." He chuckled, certain he had won.

"Don't... don't count on it," the Autobot shot back. "If you're trying to humiliate me, I'll get over it. But you won't get your frag, and you never will get the chance to again after this. Your call. Four kliks."

It was silent for several astroseconds and, glancing at Tarn, Pharma could see that he'd won.

Almost.

"...Don't be so cocky, Pharma," the purple mech growled, smacking the other into the wall face-first a second time. "Despite your flippant mouth, I'm still charged and eager to get between your folds. So either let me in or fight me until your  _supposed_  Enforcers come but I am not leaving til you've helped me take care of this charge."

Blunt fingers dove between his legs again, once more grasping the seams of his codpiece, actually digging into the edges harshly this time.  _'Slaggit!'_ , Pharma cursed silently,  _'Not this! Not like this! You can't have that satisfaction!'_

"My thighs!," the pharmacist yelped, bucking and twisting. He snapped his thighs tight, trying to grind the servo out. "Use my thighs, you brute, before you break something!"

"And why should I?," Tarn asked, not stopping. He burned hotly against the Autobot, condensation collected and dripping down his frame the moment the drops formed. "You're such an arrogant, troublesome lil' thing but you are very pretty...so lovely... Just going to..." He was mumbling, rambling really, his spike twitching harder with need; the piping on the side pulsating in lightning repetition as the charge built to critical levels.

"Because," Pharma hissed, wriggling and bucking backwards, slapping his thighs around the Decepticon's spike, catching him off-guard and finally removing the servo from his plating, "I am in control here and you will do only as  _I_  say!"

Groaning lowly, the larger mech shoved Pharma forwards, crushing him between the wall and his chestplates even as he cupped the pharmacist closer. The Autobot gagged, hearing engines rev loudly with desire, awkwardly bracing himself against the wall when suddenly Tarn broke out into a series of quick, heavy thrusts; shifting and angling upwards, so that the tip slid up the front of the white mech's codpiece each time, smearing pre-fluid everywhere. Primus, how he wanted to purge...

"Y-you...," Tarn hissed, keeping up his rigid pace, "You w-wax of-often? Mhmmm, s-soft... soft thighs y-you have, P-pharma."

"S-shut up!," he snapped, yelping as his balance shifted a little, cheekplate grazing brick as Tarn started pounding harder, growling lustfully. "W-would... would y-you... S-stop t-tha-Ah!"

Engines howled loudly as the Decepticon's wildly thrusting finally came to a grinding halt; transfluid erupting from between Pharma's clenched thighs, painting the wall before him in a pale, dirty, faintly-glowing lavendar substance. Staring at it in horrified disgust, Pharma was startled when Tarn finally ripped away, the space between his thighs where the spike had nestled cold and tingly.

Spitting curses and foul words, the Autobot quickly shuffled away from the purple mech, pulling out a handkerchief from subspace and hurriedly wiping away any leftover strands of transfluids.

"Don't...," Tarn vented slowly, still gathering his composure, "Don't be so dramatic, Pharma. Some friendly frottage is not so bad. Though next time, I would like something a little more thorough."

"...next time?," Pharma hissed quietly, horror and disbelief in his tone. Next time? What made this imbecile think there would be a next time?! The Decepticon was lucky that his spike was tucked away already, otherwise the pharmacist would be making a move to kick it again.

The purple mech chuckled, turning and heading into the darker shadows of the alleyway. "But of course, my dear pharmacist! I still have three more dosages... And unless you want things to end badly, you will help me discharge my pent-up energy. I'll even let you choose how, since you're so eager to be in control."

The white mech shook with rage and hatred, alarmed that the Decepticon had actually tricked him and was now trying to blackmail him for frags! Slaggit, Pharma was the one who was supposed to win here!

"Goodnight Pharma," Tarn spoke, his vocalizer fading as he too disappeared from sight. "See you again soon."

"Not likely," Pharma bit out, tossing the dirtied rag into the nearest trash receptacle. He turned, eager to get home, when flashing lights rolling down the street informed him that his summoned Enforcers had finally arrived.

_'Slag...,'_  the Autobot thought, smoothing the angry contours of his face down into the expression of a neutral, but concerned, civilian for the first officer that stepped out of the van. A lie already prepped on his talented glossa for his ever-diligent law Enforcers.


	2. Chapter 2

**C.M.D: After getting really, badly sick for nearly a month and taking just as long to recover, it's been nice to get back to my writing though I wish I'd been able to muster up more chapters. All the same, please enjoy and hopefully I'll see you all next month with even more updates!**

Pharma dreaded the next orn, in the same way he was certain that deadbeats dreaded when their next tormentor would appear, demanding payment. How ironic, he sneered silently to himself. All the same, Cybertron completed its orbit and warm orange starlight spread across the city, announcing the start of a new orn. Going through his daily routine, Pharma headed out for the pharmacy, helm held high and optics skimming over everything with his usual disdain and aloofness.

Tarn, or fragger as the jet preferred to call him, thought he had a hold over the Autobot. Over a simple, unprecedented reaction to some narcotics that were, admittedly, aimed to offline him? _Please_. The Decepticon was an idiot. True, he'd forced himself on the white mech last night, and in that round, he'd won. But if this were to be taken as a game (and it seemed likely that the Kaon-scum saw it as such), Tarn had merely tasted a small victory; he hadn't yet claimed the check-mate.

And nor would he.

Practically gleeful, Pharma clocked in for his shift, frightening the few staff members he passed with the bounce in his step. See, Tarn believed that he could continue to extort the Autobot for sexual favours, perhaps even for long-term, under the assumption that all of this would come back to bite Pharma in the aft. The idiot Decepticon honestly thought that the pharmacy's files would incriminate the jet and he'd lose, not only his job, but his license as well!

Pharma would have laughed in his face last night when he made that implication, if he hadn't been more concerned of the events at hand.

The moment Tarn had disappeared from the store yesterorn, he'd already doomed himself. For you see, the jet had not entered the Decepticon into the system. There was no file on the pharmacy computers with his data in it. There was no receipts or processing documents stating that Pharma had even sold a heavy-strength narcotic to the tank, beyond what Tarn bought on a weekly, almost daily, basis. But what about the missing pills Pharma had used to make the unexpected aphrodisiac with, you might ask?

Simple.

They were written off and slipped under other clients' files. After all, the pharmacy was allotted to give individual customers a maximum of two doses per prescription, in case of emergencies or to tide them over until their usual orders could be refilled the next orn.

All in all, Pharma would have come off squeaky clean if the stupid thug had just died of an overdose like he was supposed to!

Now though, the only real evidence that could indicate the Autobot's offense were the few remaining doses that Tarn claimed to still have. A few more times that Pharma would have to put up with the tank's disgusting advances and desires to get under his plating. A few more times that the jet would gladly play and bite his glossa through, while still keeping the Decepticon from his true goal obviously, because at the end of it...

At the end of it, Pharma smiled cruelly, booting up the pharmacy's computers and checking the comm lines for any late night orders, he could call the Enforcers and have Tarn arrested for sexual harassment, possibly even assault! And then the masked mech would finally be gone for good! Just the thought alone put the Autobot in a good mood and he worked throughout the morning, completely forgetting about Tarn himself and his impeding visit.

Until...

"Don't you look chipper, my lovely Pharma."

Smile dropping faster than maintenance drones off a Vosian flight deck, the jet looked up from his pill counting, finding an almost beaming tank standing at the register. _Great._ Tarn chuckled richly at the evil glare he was receiving, shifting so that he was situated comfortably against the thin counter and servos folding neatly into themselves.

"What's with the glare, dear doctor?," he asked, vocalizer an almost sickening coo. "You looked so pretty an astrosecond ago, smiling and working away in your precious lil' white coat."

"What do you want?," Pharma hissed, shoving the equipment aside as he rose to his pedes, stomping across the pharmacy floor. He knew showing anger would only encourage the giant brute, but if there was one thing he couldn't bite his glossa towards, it was stupid, disgusting baby talk and being treated as if he were a sparkling playing dress-up. As expected, the Decepticon's optics flared in delight behind his hideous mask; engine kicking into a low rumble with what the jet could only assume was lust.

How nauseating.

"I simply wished to visit you this morning. Perhaps keep you company."

"I'm _busy_ ," the Autobot nearly spat in return. "So, if you don't mind-"

"Ah," Tarn hummed, leaning in closer as his vocalizer dropped to a serious whisper, "Then let me rephrase that: When do you punch out this orn?"

Pharma hated the way the tank stared at him so intensely, but he wasn't stupid enough to make a scene, especially not when the larger mech was bringing up unwanted subjects. Glancing about the store quickly to ensure no one was nearby, the jet came a few steps closer to the register, servos balled into fists as he propped them against his sides. "And _why_ would I tell you that? So you can ambush me again in the alley?," he demanded in a hiss. "No _thank you_. I've had more than I'll ever need in my function of dingy places and low-life scum."

Red optics narrowed between the mask's slits at the scathing response, one large servo disappearing between the jutting, purple plates of his chest. Pharma merely watched as the brute withdrew a small, medical vial; the labels ripped off so one could see clearly through the orange glass to the three, large capsules left. "I believe _this_ ," Tarn answered neutrally, "Is reason enough as to why you'll do so."

He was threatening him. The stupid Decepticon was _actually_ threatening him at his place of employment. This was unbelievable! Pharma was so stricken with rage, he couldn't even speak; his vocalizer clicking on a few times as it automatically tried to reboot. But no amount of reset could ever allow the Autobot to transfer so much hatred into eloquent speech. If he had the strength enough, he'd choke the tank, he really would! Almost physically shaking now, Pharma did the only thing he was capable of in that moment: he turned about and stormed right to the back of the pharmacy, slamming open drawers and cupboards in a means to both vent his outrage and ignore the Decepticon.

The jet heard as Tarn opened his mouth to speak again, yet all that came out was a casual "Very well. See you later, my dear Pharma," before the sound of the aft's retreating pedesteps reached Pharma's audios.

In disbelief, the white mech did turn his helm to see if the Kaonian was truly leaving, and he was! ...If only because another customer had finally appeared, waiting for their turn to see the pharmacist. There wasn't enough gratitude in Pharma to even feel relief at this temporary distraction from the Decepticon's attentions. Facing the cupboards for a moment, the jet quickly vented out as much frustration as he could, before smoothing down his lab coat and heading back towards the pharmacy counter.

**xxXxXxx**

If it wasn't for the fact that Pharma consciously set an alarm every morning before his shift, he could have very easily forgotten all about his lunch cycle after Tarn's earlier visit. As it was, his chronometer pinged silently, reminding the jet that he was free to punch out in a couple kliks and Pharma was vaguely glad. He needed some time away from this pathetic shop, to cleanse both his processor and his neural net of the Decepticon's lingering presence. Quickly finishing the last of his current order, Pharma locked the rest of the medication away in the cupboards, before shedding off his lab coat and punching out for break.

In less than a klik, he was out on the street again, surrounded by crowds and warmed by a persistent star's light. Almost good but not good enough. Now was a great time to get away, the Autobot thought, even if just for a short while, so Pharma took to a staircase heading upwards a couple buildings down. It led to a small, side mounted flight deck, specifically designed for flyer's to get liftoff without disturbing others on the sidewalk below. Usually, the jet didn't like to make a show of the fact that he could fly (it was an apparent voyeuristic invite for those with a flyer kink) but he needed to stretch his wings after such a horrid morning and there was a lovely cafe several blocks down on a platform that was a favourite of his.

Decision made, the Autobot did a quick stretch, before gracefully hopping up and transforming in one fluid motion. Immediately, a secondary set of sensors flared to life; atmospheric pressure, solar radiation, altitude, wind speed... Pharma knew it all, as instantaneously and as common place as walking. He may not have been a jet of Vosian build but there were still many a function he possessed, and the vain mech relished such a rare privilege among his simpler Iaconians. Flying was a gift of omnipotence and freedom most didn't know. Wing flaps fluttering in place for an astrosecond (and feeding Pharma a slue of different readouts with every change of position) the Autobot straightened out his fins for the coordinates of his preferred destination, turbines heating as he shot up into the beautiful starlit sky; making graceful loops and generally enjoying himself casually before landing down at the cafe's receiving deck.

Already in a better mood, Pharma waited momentarily for his turbines to cool, heading inside the moderately busy cafe, eager now for a bite. Quaint bistro tables and chairs were spread around the small space; some filled, but quite a number empty. Which was fine by the jet. Though ground-pounders could reach the cafe by an external elevator, many did not know about the cafe or thought it too pretentious for their liking. Pharma didn't care, especially if it meant he'd have a pleasant lunch cycle, not bothered by anyone more than the kindly waitress taking his order. Grabbing himself a seat by one of the large windows, the Autobot quickly perused the cafe's menu for anything new, before swapping it for a newsfeed datapad another customer must of left behind. As usual, there wasn't anything of much interest to be read, but it kept Pharma mildly occupied as the waitress came and went with his order.

All in all, leaving the pharmacy had been a wise choice this orn.

...or so Pharma thought, until a waiter tripped unexpectedly, upending a glass of half-finished engex all over the flyer. "I-i'm so so-sorry!," the mech warbled as Pharma leapt to his pedes in horror, feeling the warm beverage already oozing between the seams in his collar, "I di-didn't-"

"D-do," the jet hissed between his denta, wings shivering as he refrained from exploding in rage at the idiotic employee, "Do you h-have anything to clean t-this mess with?"

"U-um, y-yes!," the waiter exclaimed hurriedly, standing up straight and grabbing a wash rag from off of his tray. "O-on the side, th-there's a half-rack on the side. I-it's mostly for vanity purposes, b-but it has a sink and some towels handy!"

A half-rack would hardly be useful... What Pharma needed was a hot shower in a fully equipped washrack, but he didn't have any time left to make a trip home, nor did he really wish to get sticky engex trapped between his seams and folds during a transformation sequence. Wings twitching still in ire, the white mech nodded stiffly in acknowledgement before he marched out of the cafe and around the side to where the half-rack was mentioned to being.

When he finally found it, the jet almost fired his engine in outrage. The half-rack, which was already dismal sounding to begin with, was a tiny extension poorly attached to the rest of the building and hardly bigger than a storage closet. Cleaning in this would be such a hassle, yet the chronometer was still ticking and his lunch cycle was drawing quickly to a close. With no other options left, Pharma silently cursed the waiter and this horrible, no good orn, opening the door and strutting into the half-rack.

He didn't even get a chance to shut the door behind him before something else grabbed it, wrenching it free from the Autobot's grip and shoving into the tiny space alongside the jet. "W-wha- YOU!," Pharma snarled, twisting his helm free from a tank tread to find himself pinned tightly to the wall by Tarn himself. "You followed me all the way here?!"

Tarn chuckled as he locked the door from behind his massive frame, pressing all the more closer as the half-rack began to heat from the combined atmosphere cycling from their two vents. "Well, I had to do something when you refused to be polite to me earlier," the Decepticon replied, vocalizer as sweet as over-fermented energon, "Though stealing a few short moments from your lunch is certainly not my idea of a rousing date."

The white mech gagged in obvious disgust. "Date? You call this a date?! Only Kaon-scum like yourself would think trapping a 'bot in a closet and raping them as 'romantic'," Pharma spat, testily trying to shove against the larger mech.

Unsurprisingly, Tarn was not perturbed, either by the shove or by the jet's cruel words. One shift of his giant frame and Pharma found himself higher up the wall, purple mask at his collar strut and thighs awkwardly spread around the other's wide waist. Squirming did nothing obviously and only ground his engine unpleasantly against the walls instead, meaning the Autobot was well and trapped again at the mercy of the Decepticon.

"It's true that tipping off the waiter to sully you was indeed underhanded," Tarn bemoaned with arrogant pretense, "But, again dear Pharma, you're the one whose been quite prejudice towards me for my model make and not allowing me the chance to properly court you. And seeing as how you began this lovely little game, I'm more than willing to win, however I may be forced to do so."

"So, how shall we play today, my precious pharmacist?," the Decepticon asked, a tell-tale click of retracting plating heard before Pharma felt his spike slid along the protective covering over his aft.

Disgust roiled his fuel tanks. Fingers flexing angrily, the Autobot desperately wished that his model had included those garish claw caps for the finger tips, if only so he could gouge out the hideous, red gaze glowing at him mockingly. "I'll scream," Pharma hissed poisonously, his modest wings flapping angrily at his sides. "Release me at once."

"Really, Pharma? Scream?," Tarn sighed dramatically. "Have you nothing better to respond with? You're merely repeating yourself from the previous orn and we both know how that ended, don't we?"

The jet said nothing, refraining from squirming, even as he felt the spike pulse between his thighs. It was emitting more heat than it had an astrosecond ago, the sensation of warm plating flaring in anticipation making Pharma almost gag. He was truly and utterly trapped, he realized, with his lunch cycle rapidly nearing its end and the tank in control of his lust, unlike last time. "...I'll get you for this," the white mech snarled softly, pressing back as much as he could against the half-rack wall.

Engines rumbled loudly from within the Decepticon, fans kicking into overdrive and expelling hot air, accepting Pharma's surrender for what it was. "I await the moment," he replied with an earnest coo, "But for now, I think I'd like to focus on other matters: namely, your frame."

The Autobot cringed as he was readjusted against the wall, Tarn pressing closer, his mask an unwanted few millimeters away from the jet's pointed olfactory sensor; red optics wide and attentive as they hungrily drank in the other's sight. Worse than being tricked into another forced interface, Pharma realized he did not have the cover of darkness to help hide himself from the Decepticon's vision and he was stuck facing the brute head-on this time around. In an attempt to avoid maintaining Tarn's gaze, Pharma snapped his helm to the side as much as was possible, scowling at the cheap paint and tile of his current prison.

"Don't be so dramatic, my dear," the other's vocalizer sickeningly soothed, hot intakes brushing over the white mech's bare neck cables, at the same moment the tank shifted, the burning spike lodging perfectly into the open seam between thigh and aft.

Pharma struggled to silence his choking cry of dismay as his spread legs were lifted even higher, broadening the open space and allowing Tarn to thrust his spike even deeper against sensitive cabling and hip joint. The almost tender touch clashed with the queer tickling sensation of delicate wiring being pressed on unexpectedly, leaving the Autobot to squirm in a disconcerting state of pleasure and general squickiness. Servos snapped upwards and helm turned a fraction of the way toward the purple mech as Pharma struggled momentarily in defiance, his lip components twisted by yet another snarl.

"Get that thing out of there!," he shrieked, all thought of pride or demeanor miles from his helm as he wildly slammed his fists against the Decepticon's gritty treads. "It doesn't belong there- you'll gum up my hip! Can't you grind against a thigh like a normal degenerate!?"

Tarn chuckled richly, and the sound of it, along with the brute's frame rocking into a shallow pace, made Pharma shiver as he was assaulted by another noxious blend of sensations. "No, my dear Pharma, I think I'll stay right here," the purple mech purred, spike sliding comfortably into the bared seam. "As lovely as your thighs are, they are not enough I'm afraid, and this spot is deliciously warm and soft. A reflection of what your valve must be like, I believe. Alas, our time is limited, so we will have to save that experience for another orn."

A curse fluttered on his lip components yet nothing escaped. Fans cycling louder, the Decepticon pressed Pharma so tight against the wall that every stretched limb made contact at some point across his plating; leaving him as helpless as a living doll within a titan's servo. Helm twisting to the side weakly, the jet shuttered his optics, shivering as his sensory grid lit sporadically with a wash of different readings: from wires being stroked by a hot spike in his hip, a painful skritch across sensitive cockpit glass from chipped chestplates, to, finally, the undefinable sensation of warm intakes ghosting so close across his collar struts.

Trying to block out every crystalline detail, Pharma weakly grasped along the half-rack walls for a distraction, instead, having one servo captured by a larger one as Tarn began to thrust even faster. Then there was only the heat and soft wet sounds of joint lubricant and other fluids mixing in a usually confined and hidden space.

"D-don't you-," the Autobot tried to warn acidly. But it was a wasted effort.

Throwing his full weight forward suddenly, Tarn nearly crushed the white mech where he held him pinned to the wall, spike striking upwards hard one last time before the tank gave a soft, satisfied groan. Winglets shivering at the sharp pain his stalker's last thrust had created in delicate areas, Pharma could only hiss, any twisted sense of pleasure that had built at the act vanishing and leaving the jet with the disgusting feel of rapidly cooling transfluid slopping out from his hip joint viscously.

"Put me down," he demanded impatiently, smacking the purple mech upside the helm with his free servo. It was not a good swing by any means, not with his elbow trapped against his side, but it was a hit that Pharma was slagging proud of.

Tarn, his red optics narrowed behind his too-close hideous mask, seemed none too amused by the defiance. "Again, allow me to remind you that it was your actions that began this, Pharma," he told gravely, spike retracting beneath his codpiece as he stepped back enough to let the Autobot slide to the floor on his own pedes. There was still not enough space in the half-rack though to keep their frames from touching intimately. "I'm playing by your rules or this story would have had a much different ending the night before. So, please, before you whip that malicious glossa of yours again, keep in mind that all this can end well... or badly... It all depends on how you wish to behave."

Chastised like he was a sparkling! And threatened all at once! This Kaonian was the very epitome of a rust-ridden grease stain on the underside of a dive's table. "Get out!," was all Pharma snarled back in return, smacking the wide purple chest for extra measure. "Take your foul courtships and disgusting spike with you, you scrap-beast! Don't you ever think for a second that I am intimated by you. I am the better 'bot here. You. Are. SCUM!"

The Decepticon only huffed through his vents in silent response, summoning an item from subspace into his waiting palm. "A cleanser I thought you may like, to help clean the wasted energon from your frame. The one here is much too abrasive for your lovely plating." Without waiting for a response, he set it awkwardly down on the half-rack's counter top, then Tarn reached behind him with another servo, unlatched the door and stepped out. Only when the door shut in Pharma's face did he realize that the tank had actually left.

Like lightning, the jet flashed across the tiny room, locked the door again then turned to the pitiful mirror, wary of the disgusting sight he was about to see. Dry and sticky energon dotted along his collar, trailing down his frame in mismatched rivulets and spatters, paint was a little duller along the underside of his chestplates... Aside from the gross squelching coming from his aching hip, there was no other mark of what the brute had done to him. Good, Pharma thought. He didn't want questions heading back to the pharmacy and he certainly would not stand to work the rest of his shift wearing the marks of some scrapheap Decepticon.

Grabbing fistfuls of clothe and shoving aside Tarn's "thoughtful going-away present" in favour of the cafe's own offered cleanser, Pharma set to work viciously scrubbing as he raced to beat his chronometer. He left the half-rack clean, if not a little roughened up from the none-too-gentle soap, and still burning with subdued rage as the jet was forced to re-evaluate his stance on the tank's intelligence and his skill for surprise as he flew back to the store.

**C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


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